


Making Me Yours

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Paint, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), Friendship, M/M, Nicknames, Porn with Feelings, Sheith Secret Santa 2018, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, brief mentions of underage drinking, frat AU, tight & bright party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: When Keith agrees to go with his friends to a stupid frat party he doesn’t expect to enjoy it and he certainly doesn’t expect to meet anyone. Shiro, however, defies all expectations.





	Making Me Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasigorengart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasigorengart/gifts).



> This work is for nasigorgenart! When I got you as my giftee and saw you wanted frat boy Shiro I knew this was a match made in heaven as Frat Boy Shiro is my life. I was so excited to write this for you and then by some magical fluke, we became friends after I'd got assigned you which made writing this even more fun. This spiraled out of control and I really hope you enjoy it!

The problem with having friends was that they wanted you to do things.

For the majority of Keith’s life, he’d been content to be alone. Being the only child of a single parent with no extended family meant Keith was used to being alone. The fact that his dad was constantly moving them around to look for new work meant that by the time Keith was ten he’d lived in six different states, eleven different houses, and attended nine different schools. Loneliness and instability were the cornerstones of Keith’s life.

At least until he’d turned eleven. That’d been the year his dad had moved them to New Mexico, the only place he’d lived for more than a few months. By the time he turned thirteen, however, he and his dad were packing up their shitty station wagon and moving again. But the lure of the warm desert and the stars at night never left Keith, and by the time he graduated high school and was old enough to pick a college, he’d found himself choosing one in New Mexico, even though his dad was in Florida. Sure he was going to miss him, and out-of-state tuition was fucked, but Keith couldn’t resist the pull of the land of enchantment.

Keith didn’t know if he believed in magic or a god. Hell, most days Keith didn’t even believe in himself. But something about the way he’d felt the first time his boots had crunched against the red gravel for the first time in almost six years made him believe in his future.

Keith wasn’t sure what exactly he expected to happen. He knew being on his own, back in a state he loved, wasn’t going to change his life overnight. He figured he’d still keep to himself, maybe ride his motorcycle in the desert at night and hopefully get a degree that would help him earn enough money to have the financial stability his dad had never been able to provide them with no matter how hard he tried.

He went to his classes (usually), did his homework (most of the time), and worked (more than he slept). But somewhere between starting college, getting a job at the coffee house on campus, and attempting to pretend he didn’t miss his dad more than an eighteen-year-old probably should, he had been shocked to find that by the end of the first semester he had friends.

He supposed living in the dorms helped because it’d forced Keith to interact with people despite his natural inclination to avoid any non-essential interactions with other human beings. Not that Keith disliked people, or not all of them, it was that he didn’t necessarily trust them. He’d grown up with a single dad who’d constantly moved them around from place to place while refusing to tell him who his mom was or why she apparently hadn’t wanted Keith at all. And while Keith had loved his dad, they’d fought a lot, especially during Keith’s formative years when the last thing he wanted was to end up as the new kid year after year. Eventually, Keith had given up on making friends, tired of not quite fitting in and tired of feeling like he was constantly doomed to abandon other people or be abandoned by them.

So when he’d gone off to college, he’d intended to rent a dumpy studio apartment and continue his trend of trying to need as little from other people as possible. Except when his college admissions packet came in the mail, he’d been shocked to discover that not only had he gotten a full scholarship, it included student housing. While Keith might have been stubborn with a tendency to isolate when stressed, he was neither stupid nor wealthy enough to choose his own place over the dorms even if it meant sacrificing his privacy, which is how he’d ended up living in the dorms on campus. The co-ed dorms.

He’d been a bit shocked at first about the co-ed bit, but it’d turned out to be a good thing since he’d met Pidge, the no-nonsense student across the hall who was somehow already taking senior seminar classes despite being the same age as Keith. Or at least he assumed she was the same age since they’d all been put on the same floor, which he was about ninety-eight percent sure was a freshman-only dorm. Of course, Pidge looked about fourteen but was taking math classes so advanced Keith didn’t think he’d even be taking them in four years, so he wasn’t all that sure what to make of her. Unlike most people Keith knew, Pidge had an authenticity and tenacity that made him like her immediately. She was blunt and lacked the social niceties that Keith often thought were more akin to overrated bullshit, and that made it easy to get along with her since Keith’s inability to be polite even when social norms required it didn’t seem to faze her in the least.

Then there was his own roommate, Lance, who was a bit exhausting, since he never shut up, he hogged the bathroom, and he seemed to want to talk to Keith constantly. There were things people who weren’t only children raised by a single parent could never understand, the biggest one being how used to silence and personal space Keith was, neither of which Lance seemed capable of grasping. The only positive was that he didn’t seem bothered by Keith’s lack of response, and Keith had realized by week two that as long as he occasionally nodded or grunted, Lance was appeased. Even though Lance was a lot more social and animated than anyone Keith had ever been friends with, it was hard not to secretly like Lance. He was smarter than he seemed to realize, and despite his dramatics, he was socially perceptive and kind, something Keith had learned firsthand during their freshman orientation the weekend before classes had officially started. Their entire floor was supposed to be talking about their childhood best friends during some stupid get-to-know-you dorm trust exercise. Keith didn’t have a childhood best friend—he’d never had a best friend, period—and when Keith had been half a second from high-tailing it out of the dorm’s large shared living space, Lance had loudly piped up with his own story. Keith had realized then that Lance was a lot more than a big mouth, and that Lance wasn’t desperate for attention. Maybe he was a bit of an attention whore, but beneath that he was also incredibly perceptive and selfless.

Last, but not least, in his unexpected friendship group was Hunk, the guy at the end of the hall who had somehow been lucky enough to get the only solo room on their entire floor, which meant that where there should’ve been a second bed, instead there was an impressive (though not technically allowed) kitchen set-up on a folding table consisting of a Keurig, a waffle maker—which Keith learned by week two could be used for a lot more than just waffles—a microwave, and a mini-fridge. Keith didn’t spend much time being jealous of Hunk’s set-up because for some reason Hunk seemed to like both him and Lance, which meant both of them were regularly sprawled out on Hunk’s floor eating waffle-shaped hash browns and over-microwaved Hot Pockets as they all bemoaned their homework. By the third week, Pidge had somehow joined their study sessions (which were at least sixty percent seeing what they could cook in the waffle maker and trying to blow up marshmallows in the microwave when Hunk was in the bathroom). It wasn’t just the food Hunk provided that made everyone like his room the best, it was something in his countenance that made you feel like maybe exactly who you were was who you were supposed to be. Hunk was funny and kind and non-judgemental in a way Keith had never thought another teenage guy could be.

So yeah, by the time the first trimester had ended, Keith figured he was doing alright for himself. He’d managed to keep his grades up for his scholarship, his supervisor at the coffee shop—Allura, a senior majoring in public relations—had warmed up to him enough that he was no longer getting the worst weekend shifts, and he actually had friends. Not just people he pretended to know because they were in the same class, or people he was forced into awkward study groups he thought he’d seen the last of in high school with, but friends. Honest-to-god friends who made him laugh, friends he shared bits of himself with over burnt microwave popcorn and smashed Snickers at two in the morning as they watched Netflix over the single account they all shared.

But having friends have a downside.

A terrible, horrible downside that no one had prepared him for.

They wanted you to do stuff.

 

 

**_____**

 

 

“No. Absolutely not,” Keith said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the footboard of Hunk’s bed.

“Come on man, we’re all going. It’ll be fun!” Hunk said, plopping a hot cocoa pod into his Keurig. The machine whirred loudly before the steaming sweet liquid bubbled out of the machine and into one of Hunk’s ridiculous mugs that said _Yes I’m Handsome, my name is Hunk_ —one of many ridiculous mugs he owned, each one more ridiculous than the last.

“I think you and I have a different definition of fun,” Keith said.

“Technically fun can be a noun, an adjective, or a verb, but the definition is really the same—some sort of diversion that provides entertainment and enjoyment. So you can’t have more than one definition of fun,” Pidge said.

Lance snorted. “Not what he meant Pidge.”

“Well then he should be more clear, is all I’m saying. Besides, you can’t say it won’t be fun if you’ve never been to a frat party. You’re only making an educated guess, and the only way to know for sure if you’re correct is to test your hypothesis. Therefore, you should come with us.”

“Yeah man, come on,” Hunk tried again, peeling back the top of the vanilla-flavored creamer packets he’d stolen from 7-Eleven last weekend and adding three of them to his already too-sweet hot cocoa.

“I’m not going, and you can’t make me,” Keith said, uncomfortably aware of how petulant he sounded.

“No one is trying to make you do anything,” Lance said from Hunk’s bed, flipping the page of his magazine.

“Technically we are actually trying to make him go,” Pidge jumped in, swatting Lance’s legs to the side and hopping up to sit cross-legged on the end of Hunk’s bed. “It’s just that we want you to willingly go. Or, well, actually we want you to willingly allow us to make you go.”

“Wouldn’t it be impossible for someone to willingly allow you to do something? That seems like a logical fallacy,” Lance said.

“Oh, ho, ho, ho,” Hunk said, dropping into the chair at his desk. “Looks like someone did his reading for his Introduction to American Law class.”

Lance’s eyes got big as he lifted his eyes from his magazine. “Of course I did my reading. How the fuck am I going to be a lawyer if I don’t study?” Truth, justice, and the American way you know.”

“You do know that lawyers aren’t necessarily concerned with truth or justice but rather the ability to legally apply subjective truths to a certain case. It’s not about actual truth but plausibility and proportional believability based on what the lawyers want you to think.” Pidge smiled like she was talking about rainbows and unicorns.

“Oi, not all lawyers are bad. You make it sounds like they’re all liars and charlatans. Some of us want to use our ability to make anyone agree with us for a greater cause.”

“You really can’t make anyone agree with you,” Hunk said, setting his mug down on the desk.

“You three are the worst best friends I’ve ever had,” Lance said, taking the pillow from behind his back and chucking it at Hunk.

“Yeah, you can’t even get Keith to agree to go to the party with us,” Pidge said.

“That’s because Keith is a stubborn asshole.”

“Oi, I’m sitting right here. I can hear you, Lance!”

“Well, it’s true!” Lance shouted, throwing his arms up. “Now, what do I have to do to make you come with us?”

“See,” Keith said, raising his eyebrows, even though Hunk was the only one actually looking at him. “I knew you all were trying to make me go.”

Lance sighed, closing the magazine and tossing it to the floor. “Listen, dude, you need to get out. All you do is work and study and hang out in the dorms. Your idea of a wild Saturday night is melting an entire bag of smashed Hershey’s kisses you found on clearance after Christmas to pour on your pretzels. It’s absolutely pathetic, and as your best friend I cannot allow it to continue.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Hunk said, furrowing his eyebrows as he blew on his hot cocoa.

“Clearly if anyone is Keith’s best friend it’s me,” Pidge said.

Keith felt his cheeks flush at the idea of anyone, let alone more than one person, wanting to be his best friend. “You’re all my best friends, now shut it.”

“But I’m the best of the best, right?” Lance asked as Pidge rolled her eyes, and Hunk snorted derisively. Keith noticed Lance didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, like I was saying, it’s pathetic and—”

Keith turned his head to glare at Lance. “First of all, you were with me when we bought those Hershey’s kisses, and the only reason they were smashed is because you sat on them on the bus back to the dorms. Secondly, melting them to put on the pretzels was your idea!”

Lance waves his hand dismissively. “You’re focusing on the wrong details, my man. The point is you were stuck inside. Not on a date. Not partying. Not living it up. We’re in college, for fuck’s sake. We should all be out having the time of our lives.”

Keith didn’t know how to say that hanging out with people who genuinely liked him was his idea of the time of his life without sounding more sappy or honest than he felt capable of, so instead he sighed and dropped his forehead to his knees. “Fine, fine I’ll go to this goddamn frat party,” he mumbled.

Hunk let out an unexpected whoop as Lance jumped up on the bed, nearly knocking Pidge to the floor. “Whoa, sorry, Pidge,” Lance said, grabbing her arm and ensuring she didn’t tip over the edge.

Keith shook his head. “It’s just a party. You don’t all need to get so damn excited.”

Pidge reached over the edge of the bed to pat him on the head. “I’m pretty sure this is the right level of excitement for us all going to our first college party together.”

Keither shrugged his shoulders in resignation, rising from the floor and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Alright then, let's go and get this over with.”

To Keith’s surprise, rather than jumping up to join him, all three of his friends glanced at one another as they shared a knowing look.

“What?” Keith asked.

Pidge lifted her hand to chew on her thumbnail. “You tell him,” she hissed to Hunk.

“Nu-uh, he likes me, I don’t wanna change that. You tell him, Lance.”

“What, are you implying he doesn’t like _me_? Besides I just got him to agree to go. My job is done for the day. You tell him, Pidge.”

Pidge shook her head, her hair falling into her eyes behind her wide-rimmed glasses. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who got us an invite to this party! Your brother is the one in the fraternity!”

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Keith asked, apprehension growing.

“Well see, the thing is, it's not just a frat party.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, waiting for more. Pidge sighed and dropped both hands into her lap as a rush of words spilled from her mouth. “It’s a tight and bright party, and you can only get admittance if you wear something tight and bright, and we all might’ve gone on Amazon and pooled our money and ordered you a pair of skin-tight bright red boxers, and you have to wear them to get into the party, and you can’t say no because if you don’t go we all can’t go because one of the frat brothers instigated a freshmen in pairs only rule, and we can’t show up in odd numbers so—” Pidge paused, taking a deep breath. “So please, will you go still?”

Keith blinked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“If it helps, I’m already wearing my bright blue Speedo underneath my clothing, and I’m fully prepared to make the sacrifice and show off the perfection that is Lance McClain’s smoking hot body,” Lance offered, not at all helpfully.

“What are you wearing?” Keith asked Hunk.

Hunk grinned, lifting up his shirt to reveal what appeared to be a neon-orange unitard underneath his t-shirt. Keith closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose. Fuck, his friends were weird. “What about you, Pidge?”

“I got a full-body, lime-green morph suit on clearance after Halloween that I’ll be wearing, because no where in the rules did it say tight also meant I had to show any skin, and some of us don’t need the world to see our bits.” She gave Lance a knowing look.

Lance flipped her off, turning his eyes to Keith. “So, my man. Are you in?”

As if sensing his apprehension, Pidge leaned forward, elbows on her thighs. “My brother has lots of attractive friends, one in particular, in fact. Well, if you find guys who look like they could bench press you with one arm tied behind his back, a body built like a Roman warrior, and a smile as soft as a teddy bear attractive. Which I think you do,” she winked at him, and Keith felt his stomach flip. Coming out as gay to his friends had filled Keith with fear, since the only other person he’d ever told was his dad right before he’d got on the plane to leave for college, but their easy acceptance and casual way of talking about his sexual orientation made Keith feel accepted.

He should have known Pidge would go and use that late-night conversation from last week, where he might have possibly confessed under the influence of too many bowls of Top Ramen and the second half of a flat 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew, to having a major thing for fit guys who were bigger than he was. Fucking Pidge.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Keith said with a heavy sigh.

Lance let out an exuberant whoop. “My man, you will not regret this!”

 

 

 

**_____**

 

 

Barely half an hour into the frat party, Keith regretted it.

The frat house was, as expected, ridiculously over-crowded. Somehow despite his friends telling him it was a tight and bright party—whatever the fuck that was supposed to be—and insisting he wear the stupid bright-red boxers they’d bought him, he hadn’t expected to show up and find a house full of drunk, barely clothed people who all looked straight out of a bad 80’s music video. Somehow the hoards of people seemed even more in your face like that. Keith was used to ignoring people, to blending in, but somehow he felt unable to do either, which made him feel out of sorts and in desperate need of a drink.

Lance, on the other hand, looked overjoyed to be around so many near-naked bodies— _it's bisexual heaven, my man_ , he’d exclaimed loudly, bouncing on his heels the second they’d walked through the front door. Lance, in his bright-blue Converse and even brighter-blue Speedo, was one of the few people who didn't seem at all out of place inside what basically amounted to a stuffy, testosterone-filled house full of people who looked like they’d been dipped in a box of neon paint. Pidge had had the opposite reaction and had almost immediately proclaimed the social impracticality of the clothing, while Hunk, ever the optimist, had said it looked like it would be a good night as he shot Keith an encouraging smile.

The hoards of college students apparently desperate for relief from the stress of school were all laughing, drinking, dancing, and doing fuck knows what on top of the furniture and behaving as if this were somehow both their first and last party ever.

“You’re not going to have fun if you keep walking around with that look on your face, dude. You’re going to get us kicked out,” Lance hissed loudly over the thrum of music.

“Yeah, I hate to agree with Lance, but he’s right,” Hunk agreed, shrugging his shoulders in a half-hearted apology when Keith shot him a betrayed look.

“No one gets kicked out of a frat party,” Pidge disagreed. “Well, unless the cops show up, but I talked to Matt, and the statistical probability of this party being broken up by campus security or the police is at about 25 percent, so the odds are in our favor.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out walking around talking about statistical probabilities and the police,” Lance groaned.

Pidge pulled the morph suit off her head and pulled a face at Lance. “Am not.”

“Are too!” Lance shot back as he went to shove his hands in his pockets, almost immediately realizing he didn’t have any pockets and crossing his arms in a sulk.

“If you two would kindly stop arguing, maybe we could figure out where the fuck to stand so we don’t stand out like a sore thumb,” Keith said.

As it was, the four of them had been standing in the middle of the living room for the last five minutes trying to figure out what the fuck they were supposed to do now that they were actually here. The couches were occupied with half a dozen guys playing a video game Keith was unfamiliar with—not that he wanted to sit on the sofa anyway since there were several prominent stains visible on the arms that made Keith question what had been done on those sofas previously. The walls were lined with couples making out and giving Keith an eyeful of things he definitely didn’t want a front-row view to, and from what he could see down the hallway and stairwell, just about every available space in the house was equally overcrowded.

The only thing Keith hated more than a lot of people was a lot of drunk people, and he was absolutely certain there was nothing that could make this night worse.

Keith should have realized that thinking something couldn’t get worse was usually a surefire way to ensure that things would, in fact, get worse. He learned this first-hand when half an hour later, he, Lance, and Hunk were each taking turns attempting to get Pidge to back down from a fight with a drunk guy who was at least twice her size.

It had seemed like such a good plan to hide out in the kitchen, because that was where the food and alcohol was. Except as it turned out, that also meant they’d encountered the bulk of the drunk people attempting to get the last thing they needed—more liquor. The problem with drunk people, in Keith’s opinion, was they were exactly as rude and annoying as non-drunk people, but with less of a filter. Drunk people had no sense of personal space or social decorum.

Even though none of them were drinking, it hadn’t been too much of a problem since they’d all spent fewer than ten minutes awkwardly shuffling around the party before they’d camped out at the kitchen table and begun to play a fairly unexciting game of _who can fit the most Doritos in their mouth without gagging_ , rather than actually doing whatever the fuck it was you were supposed to do at a frat party. Which meant everyone was ignoring them. At least until they weren’t.

The problem arose when someone decided they wanted the bottle of shitty tequila in the middle of the table—the bottle of tequila Pidge was blocking. Rather than simply saying excuse me or asking Pidge to pass the bottle like a fucking normal person, the guy, who was dressed in a pair of boxers in a shade of yellow as obnoxious as his personality, had physically lifted her and her chair up and out of the way and put her on the other side of the room before moving into her previously occupied spot as he filled up his stupid red plastic cup with enough shitty alcohol to knock out a linebacker. Pidge had not at all reacted kindly to the act, not that Keith blamed her. He didn’t particularly like being touched without his permission either, and since becoming friends with Pidge he’d seen firsthand the way other people felt entitled to comment on the way she spoke, dressed, or behaved just because she was female. People were constantly policing her behavior or underestimating her abilities because of her size or gender.

“Pidge, maybe if you could just—” Hunk began before Pidge cut him off with a look sharp enough to cut marble.

“If you tell me to calm down, I will punch you in the face, Hunk. I swear to god I will!” she yelled.

Hunk swallowed, throwing his hands up and taking a step back.

“Listen, Pidge, maybe we should just go outside and—”

“Yeah, listen to your friends, sweetheart. Go outside and get some fresh hair, maybe it’ll calm down your hormonal outbursts,” the guy said, laughing loudly at his own words as he chugged the rest of his tequila. It was clear he thought they were all a bit of a joke—Pidge especially.

“I am not hormonal!” Pidge yelled, balling her fists up at her sides.

“That time of the month, huh?” he slurred, winking at Keith as if they were in on some sort of joke.

“Well, fuck,” Lance whistled as Hunk made a face of horror and turned to look at Keith.

“Go get Matt!” Hunk and Lance yelled at the same time Pidge rose to stand on her chair and began to throw handfuls of nacho cheese Doritos at the guy Keith was now mentally thinking of as banana man.

“Why me?” Keith asked as he pushed his chair away from the table in horror when a handful of Doritos flew into banana man’s cup of tequila, sloshing it all over his hands as he gaped at Pidge like he didn't quite know what to make of her.

“How does that taste? Huh? Huh?!” Pidge screamed, attracting the attention of every other person in the kitchen. “It’s on like Donkey Kong you overripe banana brain!”

Keith had all of two seconds to marvel that he and Pidge seemed to have the same estimation of banana man before he realised Hunk and Lance were sitting stock-still in horror as Pidge continued to make it rain Doritos, and if he didn’t find Matt something bad was possibly going to happen.

Unable to expend the usual mental energy it took to make himself as invisible as possible, he jumped up from the table, his chair tipping backwards to the floor with a loud crash that everyone ignored in favor of watching Pidge and banana man.

“Well, shit,” Keith sighed, shaking his head as he pushed his way through the kitchen towards the backdoor that led outside.

Matt, he needed to find Matt. Though Keith had only officially met Matt earlier that night for the first time, he’d heard enough about him from Pidge over the last few weeks to know Matt was a decent guy. If he hadn't seen with his own two eyes that Matt was a frat guy,he might not have believed it, since the image Pidge painted of her kind and sometimes dorky, protective older brother who loved video games and Hershey’s bars with almonds was at odds with the mental image Keith had always held of asshole frat guys who cared about no one but themselves.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Keith yelled, ignoring the grunts of annoyance and dirty looks shot his way as he knocked over someone doing a naked keg stand on the porch, hopping down the stairs to the backyard two at a time. Where the fuck was Matt?

His eyes darted around the yard that was covered in an array of mismatched patio furniture and re-purposed strings of Christmas lights strung across the yard haphazardly. He had no idea where Matt was, aside from the fact that after he’d let them into the party he’d told them not to cause any trouble and excused himself to the backyard find someone named Shiro, whoever the hell that was.

The yard was just as crowded as the inside of the house, with throngs of people crowded around a makeshift fire in what appeared to be an old, broken barbeque. Some sort of beer pong tournament was happening next to the stairs, and there were so many clusters of people Keith couldn’t tell who was who. Adrenaline flooded his system as he pictured the multitude of ways the kitchen fight could get worse. Unable to make his way through the line of drunk people waiting to play beer pong, Keith sighed and turned back towards the porch stairs, stealing his shoulders for the only thing he felt he could o.

He grabbed ahold of the railing, propelling himself onto it in one smooth motion and ignoring the raised eyebrow he got from the girl beside him. Keith knew he was small, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t strong.

Refusing to second guess his decision, he steadied himself and rose to stand on the wobbly wooden railing, grateful he has decent core strength and that he’d decided not to drink tonight as he cupped his hands around his mouth and inhaled a deep breath before screaming, “Matthew Holt, your sister is about to murder someone.”

It was almost comical the way a hush fell over the backyard. The music from inside the house was still thumping loud enough that Keith wasn’t entirely sure how come the cops hadn’t been called yet, but the raucous chatter died down as every single head turned towards Keith, who only realized then that he had managed to attract more attention to himself than he’d ever wanted while wearing the least amount of clothing he’d ever worn in public in before. Fucking fantastic.

“Pidge?” Someone—Matt, it turned out, that identical mop of hair could be no one else—yelled from a spot just a few feet away.

Wasting no time, Keith jumped off the railing and landed deftly several feet ahead, pleased when the crowd—apparently still unsure what the hell was happening—parted so he could run straight towards Matt who was—well, Keith had no idea what the hell Matt was doing. He was standing beside a folding table covered in an array of brightly colored jars of neon paints, a paintbrush in his hand and a look of concern on his face. Matt was wearing a pair of leggings beneath a bright orange tutu and a neon-yellow tank top. Keith didn’t have long to wonder how come his friends hadn’t thought to bring him a t-shirt too when Matt began to speak:

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, dropping the paintbrush onto the table and wiping his hands on his pink hot pants. Keith was taken aback again by how alike they looked. Certainly Matt was taller and broader than Pidge, but they had the exact same eyes and hair color and the same lilt in their voice when they were worried. “Is she okay?”

“Someone called Pidge hormonal,” was all Keith said, knowing that would be enough to get Matt to grasp the gravity of the situation. The look on Matt’s face was almost comical.

“Fucking shit,” Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Where is she?”

Keith licked his lips and turned towards the house. “In the kitchen.”

“Right, fuck.” Then Matt turned towards the guy Keith hadn’t even noticed who sitting atop an overturned plastic bucket. “Sorry, Shiro. I’m sure—” Matt paused, turning to Keith, “What's your name again?”

“Keith.”

“Right, Keith. I’m sure Keith would be more than happy to take my place. I’ve gotta go make sure Pidge doesn’t actually kill anyone,” he said, grabbing the discarded paintbrush and shoving it at Keith, and then he was gone.

Keith stood there stupidly, staring at the paintbrush in his hand and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with it.

“I’m Shiro,” the guy said, and Keith looked up and was met with a face that made his knees go weak. Shiro. Fucking hell, he knew that name. Pidge had mentioned him a few times as Matt’s best friend. Keith wished he’d paid more attention, because now standing in front of the most attractive man Keith had ever laid eyes on, he suddenly wanted to know a lot more than just his name.

“Keith. I’m Keith,” he said, then mentally chastised himself for lookinglike an even bigger idiot in front of what was quite possibly the most attractive specimen of a man Keith had ever laid eyes on.

Shiro grinned, the scar across the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he barked out a laugh. “I did catch that, yeah.”

Normally Keith hated being laughed at, but something in the easy smile on Shiro’s face had Keith feeling as if the laugh was anything but malicious.

Unable to resist the allure of Shiro’s laughter, Keith dragged his eyes away from the grass and back up to Shiro’s face. Or at least he tried to keep his eyes on Shiro’s face, but it was damn near impossible when Shiro’s body looked like that. Shiro was wearing, fuck, Keith didn’t even know what to call them. They were boxers, at least he thought they were boxers. Boxers that sat so low on his waist that Keith could see the planes of his flat, muscled stomach, the sharp V at his hips, and a trail of dark hair beneath his belly button that dipped below the obscenely shiny boxers.

The boxers were skin tight and looked like they might have been painted on, and were a shade of purple so bright it was nearly blinding. They clung to Shiro’s thick thighs and left Keith in no doubt of how amply endowed he was. Keith swallowed audibly, resisting the urge to adjust himself. Fucking hell, guys like this weren’t supposed to be real. Guys who looked like Shiro were supposed to be in underwear ads and on television, out of reach and unattainable. Keith supposed technically he was still unattainable; just because Keith was eyeing him up didn’t mean Shiro was either gay or interested in him.Still, guys who looked like that weren’t supposed to sit in front of Keith smiling while wearing almost nothing.

The guy’s body looked sculpted out of marble—the breadth of his shoulders so wide it was all Keith could do not to imagine dragging his mouth or cock across the sinewy muscles, arms defined and muscular in a way that made Keith certain Shiro could easily manhandle Keith if he wanted, and fuck, did Keith want him too. He also had a metal prosthetic that glittered beneath the twinkling holiday lights, which added an edge of mystery to him that made Keith ache to know more than just what he tasted like.

“So, Keith, you gonna do something with that,” he said, waving his hand at the paintbrush.

“I don’t know how to paint,” Keith said, feeling stupider by the minute.

Shiro’s grin softened. “You’ve got a paintbrush and paint, therefore you can paint. Anyone can paint.”

“ _Right_ ,” Keith said, not bothering to hide his disbelief. “So what am I supposed to be painting anyway?”

Shiro’s grin widened. “Me.”

Keith was proud of himself for not dropping the paintbrush as he blinked at Shiro. “Err, why?”

“Because,” Shiro answered.

“If you think I’m going to just paint some random guy I don’t know just because, you don’t know me very well.” The truth was Keith was pretty certain all Shiro had to do was smile at him one more time and he would do it, but Shiro didn’t need to know that. Shiro didn’t need to know Keith was a pushover for a guy with big arms and a bigger smile—weak for a guy like Shiro.

A look Keith couldn’t read flashed across Shiro’s face as he rose to stand, taking one step towards Keith. He was even taller than Keith had thought; the mass of his body was almost imposing, at odds with the undeniably earnest smile on his face, a smile that widened as he got within inches of Keith’s face. The scent of cheap beer and cologne assaulted Keith as Shiro leaned down, the long tuft of white hair at the front of Shiro’s head tickling the arch of Keith’s cheekbone as Shiro’s warm breath ghosted across his ear. “Paint me now, maybe we can get to know each other later.”

Keith’s head spun, the side of his face burning long after Shiro had pulled back. Fucking hell, was this guy for real? It wasn’t as if Keith had never flirted with anyone before, but damn it all to hell if Shiro didn’t make him feel like he hadn’t. Keith’s stomach flipped with nerves as he stared unblinking at Shiro’s soft eyes crinkled at the corners and his amused smile.

The shock of white hair at the front of Shiro’s head fell into his eyes, and it should've looked goofy, but somehow on Shiro it looked good. Really good. It was ridiculous how attractive Keith found Shiro. He was cocky, not that Keith could blame him. Shiro clearly knew he was good looking. Beneath that was something else, something more. Shiro didn’t radiate an air of conceited assholeishness like most of the guys Keith was usually physically attracted to. Keith knew he had a type. He liked men. He liked guys who could crowd him back against a wall or fuck him hard and good. He liked a big strong man who wasn’t afraid to let Keith fuck him. He liked the way a hard, strong body felt beneath his body. The problem was, along with a body like that usually came a personality Keith wanted nothing to do with once the fucking was over. But Shiro made Keith think maybe he was different. Shiro’s smile was playful, his demeanor easy, as if he and Keith were in on this ridiculous painting thing _together_.

Shiro had the body of the greek god and the smile of a boy scout, and Keith wasn’t sure if he wanted to ruin Shiro or be ruined by him.

“So are you up for it, _Keith_?” Shiro’s tongue darted out as he let Keith’s name linger on his lips. Smooth motherfucker.

Keith licked his lips. This was fine. He could handle this. It was just a bit of flirting. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen.

“I can handle anything,” Keith said a lot more confidently than he felt.

Shiro’s laugh was infectious, nose wrinkling up as he grinned at Keith. “I like you.”

“Clearly you’re a piss-poor judge of character then,” Keith answered, biting back his own smile when Shiro laughed again.

“So, what are we doing?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow in question as he twirled the paintbrush between his fingers.

“Ah, artist’s choice. I’m afraid I don’t get to decide.”

Keith nodded, reluctantly moving his eyes off Shiro’s body and to the table and the array of colorful paint choices. Keith couldn’t recall for sure the last time he had painted anything. Probably elementary school back when adults still told you that you could do anything and making a shitty rainbow with handprints had been enough to make his dad proud of him.

“So, is this some sort of weird frat ritual or something?” Keith asked, dunking the paint brush in the neon yellow paint. “I paint you up and then you get thrown on a sacrificial fire to bring good luck to the fraternity?”

Shiro hummed his agreement. “Yup, first I get my body painted and then my frat brothers are going to sacrifice me. All frat parties require a virgin sacrifice you know.”

Keith startled, slamming the brush into the paint so forcefully it splashed onto his fingers and ran over the side of the jar. Shiro looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

“There’s no way you're a virgin. You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, I’m not, but I’d like to pull something else,” Shiro said with a guise of innocence that was quite impressive.

“Does that usually work for you?” Keith asked, shaking the excess paint off his brush and walking to stand in front of Shiro again. “Do people just swoon at your feet? Big strong man flirts, and people do whatever he wants just because he’s so fucking hot?”

“You think I’m hot?” Shiro asked, voice dripping with something that made Keith unsure if he wanted to take a step closer or farther away. Fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this attracted to someone. Not that Keith was a stranger to lust or attraction, but usually his relationships consisted of drunken a rendez-vous when the itch of loneliness and physical need got too big to scratch alone. _One and done_ had been Keith’s motto for as long as he could remember. At least until a few months ago just before he’d left for college when he’d woken up hungover and sticky in a shitty apartment that wasn’t his wondering how the fuck he was going to get out without waking the person beside him. He’d realized then that his life choices were probably not the best. So he’d gone off to college and promised himself to stop trying to fuck up every good opportunity he got just because he had approximately zero self-preservation skills and even less impulse control.

But fuck it all if Shiro didn’t make Keith want something. The problem was Keith didn’t know what that something was,which felt dangerous. Keith had two rules in life: don’t get attached to people and don’t let them get attached to you. Technically he’d broken both those rules when he'd come to college and met Lance, Hunk, and Pidge, but that was the entire problem. He’d gone and broken his own rules, and the more attached he got to his friends—and there was denying they were friends now—the more he realized that possibly, just maybe, it was okay to need them. The more he did that though, the the more his traitorous brain kept thinking it might be okay to want other things too.

“As if you don’t know what you look like,” Keith grumbled, ignoring the almost shy smile that appeared on Shiro’s face lest he have to acknowledge he was the one to put it there.

Shiro probably flirted with everyone, which was exactly why Keith needed to keep his wits about him. He wasn’t here to try to get laid by a frat boy who probably thought more of himself than he did of anyone else. Keith might not have been sure if he wanted a relationship, but he knew he was sick of waking up and regretting the night before, which is exactly why he hadn’t had a drink tonight. He didn’t need alcohol lowering his inhibitions and reminding him that he was lonelier than he cared to let on. It was bad enough that apparently all it took was a genuine smile from one good-looking guy and Keith was daydreaming about disgusting things like holding hands and cuddling. Considering Keith’s track record for avoiding anything remotely bordering on a relationship, the only thing he should only be thinking about was what he looked like naked. Of course Shiro was wearing so little clothing that Keith didn’t have to imagine what he looked like naked since he practically was.

Shiro reached out, the warmth of his fingertips lightly grazing the inside of Keith’s wrist as if to garner his attention. “Need any help?”

Keith cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nope, I’m fine. Good. Great. I got this,” he said, abruptly moving to stand behind Shiro to paint his back first. There was not a chance in hell Keith wanted to stand face-to-face with Shiro right now.

“I can’t see what you’re painting, so I just want you to know that I’m putting all my trust in you, Keith,” Shiro said, voice dripping with sincerity.

“Don’t want a giant yellow dick painted on your back?” Keith asked, meaning it to be a joke.

“I don’t have a problem with dicks on my body,” Shiro said seriously, straightening his shoulders. Keith could do nothing but stare at the wide expanse of Shiro’s shoulders, the ripple of muscles and the elegant curve of his neck highlighted by the close undercut. Perhaps painting Shiro’s back first had been an unwise choice. Keith always had been weak for a nice back, and Shiro’s was quite possibly the nicest he’d ever seen.

“You’re gay?” Keith blurted out in surprise, voice a bit harsher than he’d intended. Up until now he’d assumed Shiro was straight. It’d seemed like maybe Shiro was flirting with him, but Keith hadn’t thought it was serious. Instead he’d figured Shiro was a flirty person by nature. He didn’t actually think it meant anything.

Keith supposed that was a bit of a dick move on his part to assume that because Shiro radiated masculinity he must be straight, but then Keith was honest enough to admit sometimes he was a bit of an oblivious asshole.

Shiro’s body shifted to the side as he turned his head to glance at Keith. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable does it?”

Keith seemed to come to his senses as he shook his head. “What? No. No. Me either. Or me too I mean. I mean—fuck,” Keith cursed, face heating in embarrassment. “I’m gay too. Or I’m assuming that's what you meant before. If not feel free to ignore me.” Keith wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Shiro turned his head to smile at Keith over his shoulder, his entire body shifting to the side in the process. “You always like this?”

“Like what?” Keith asked, an edge to his voice. He was prepared for Shiro to laugh at him instead of _with_ him this time. He was prepared for Shiro to realize his flirting would be better utilized on someone else since Keith was apparently a complete gay disaster of a human. He was not prepared for the words that fell from Shiro’s mouth instead.

“Cute. You’re cute.”

Keith spluttered. “I’m not cute.”

Shiro’s grin—which already threatened to split his face in half—somehow managed to get even wider. He swiveled on the bucket, spinning his body until he was facing Keith, his muscular legs bracketing Keith while Keith stood there stupidly in between them wondering why the universe suddenly felt off-center.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, the paintbrush still held in mid-air.

“The view is better this way,” Shiro said making Keith’s stomach flip. Fuck, Keith needed to get ahold of himself.

Keith is thankful he’s not one to blush easily, because he can feel his cheeks warm at Shiro’s words. He probably butters up everyone, but god, if his attentions don’t make Keith feel like perhaps he were special...

“You always like this?” Keith countered, ignoring the fluttering sensation in his chest as Shiro tipped his head back to look Keith directly in the eyes. Keith did not want to think too hard on how much he liked Shiro’s attentions focused solely on him.

Keith was used to shunning attention, not wanting to bask in it.

“Like what?” Shiro asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

“Chatty. You talk a lot,” Keith told him, ducking his head to stare at the width of Shiro’s chest. Jesus fucking christ, this guy was built like a brick house.

“That a problem?” Shiro asked smoothly, and something in his voice made Keith wonder if the answer actually mattered to him, which made no sense since they’d just met.

Keith shook his head. “I like it,” he answered, surprised to find it was the truth. He’d never been one for mindless chatter, but he liked the way Shiro was filling the space around him not just with his words but with his physical presence. “But stop moving, you’re distracting me,” Keith admonished as he reached out and moved the tip of the paintbrush in a slow circle around Shiro’s pec, his eyes riveted to the drag of the brush as a swirl of yellow appeared on Shiro’s pale skin. The dusty rose of his nipple seemed darker as Keith swirled the brush again filling it in.

Shiro laughed as he squirmed beneath Keith. “Tickles,” he mumurmed.

“Behave,” Keith said, trying to sound serious but unable to hold back his smile. For some reason he never would have expected Shiro to be ticklish. His traitorous mind couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of Shiro’s body would make him writhe like that for an entirely different reason.

Shiro nodded, sitting up straighter and. “Yes, sir.”

Keith’s hand stilled. There was something in the way Shiro dragged the word sir out, a hint of playfulness belied by something Keith couldn’t put his finger on, something that made Keith trust that when Shiro said something, he meant it. Keith knew then that for all Shiro might be teasing, he was also going to listen. He was going to obey. _Shit._ That brought up another set of mental images Keith did not want, at least not while standing with his dick practically in Shiro’s face, hidden by nothing but bright red lycra. He did not need to get a hard-on right now.

Shiro cleared his throat, eyes twinkling with mischief as he pulled his bottom lip between his pearl white teeth. “Better?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Keith nodded as he shifted his body, feeling his cock twitch, threatening to expose Keith’s absolutely inappropriate and ridiculous attraction to a half-drunk frat guy he’d only just met.

When Shiro stuck to his word and stayed impossibly still, Keith began to move the paintbrush again, dragging it out in squiggly lines until Shiro’s right pec was decorated in a bright yellow, swirling sun. It suited him.

“Am I behaving, Sir?” Shiro asked moments later, his pink tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip as he turned his stupidly adorable puppy dog eyes on Keith.

This was absolutely ridiculous. _Sir._ Fucking hell. That should not have made Keith’s cock begin to harden. He only hoped Shiro hadn’t noticed.

Keith blinked several times, trying to remember he’d just met this guy and didn’t know anything about him. This was probably some game to Shiro, or maybe he was just flirty when he drank, and Keith was over here mentally filing away the color of his eyes and the sound of his laughter.

Shit, Keith was clearly losing his mind.

Keith was rarely comfortable around strangers. There were too much performative social niceties involved that he had no desire to acquiesce to. But nothing standing here in front of Shiro felt fake or forced or remotely uncomfortable. Even around his friends he often wondered what to do or say, unable to completely relax. Yet something in Shiro’s demeanor made Keith feel somehow both at ease and wound tight as string, his desire threatening to snap his meager self-control in half.

Beneath the muscled body, crinkly eyed smile, and absolutely ridiculous clothing—or lack thereof—something about Shiro made Keith feel things he was not at all prepared to feel.

“Yes, you are. Good boy,” Keith teased, surprised to see the pale pink flush that spread across Shiro’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose at his words.

Oh. _Oh_. Fuck. Shiro liked that, liked behaving for Keith. Keith felt the arousal surge through him, fierce as fire, raging through his body and heart.

Shiro reached out his with his prosthetic, the glittering silver sparkling in the dim light of the nearby Christmas lights on the fence as he plucked the paintbrush from Keith’s hand and let it fall to the ground, splattering the grass in globs of yellow, before wrapping his cool metal fingers around Keith’s wrist and guiding it towards the paint. Too dazed to do anything other than comply, Keith allowed Shiro to dip his index and pointer fingers in open jar of hot pink paint before guiding it back towards his chest, mere inches from Shiro’s body.

The angle seemed awkward for Shiro, but he didn't release his hold, instead maneuvering Keith’s fingers onto his skin. Just like that, the flames of desire that had begun to settle flared to life at the feeling of Shiro’s skin beneath his touch, the steady thud of Shiro’s heartbeat so strong Keith could feel it reverberating against his fingertips as Shiro guided him into painting a wonky heart right in the center of Shiro’s chest.

When it was done, Shiro released his hold on Keith’s wrist, his head bent as he stared at the sloppily done heart now branding his skin. A smile blossomed on his face as he tipped his chin up to stare at Keith, his shock of white hair falling into his eyes. More than just the arousing mass of his thick thighs and big hands, or his impossibly muscled physique, there was something adorable in his floof of white hair and the way he smiled. Shiro was beautiful.

“It’s just a heart,” Keith mumbled, unable to bear the way Shiro was looking at him as if he’d done something special—as if Keith were something special.

“ _Just a heart_. If it's just a heart then the sun is just the sun and the moon is just the moon and all the stars in the sky are just stars. This,” Shiro said, shaking the hair from his eyes as he pointed at the heart, “is perfection. I will never wash it off.”

Keith felt his own lips turn up as he snorted. “That would mean no showers. That’s disgusting.”

Shiro let out a soft laugh, his left hand reaching out to cradle Keith’s hand as he turned it over dragging the cool metal finger of his other hand through the line of hot-pink paint on Keith’s palm. The pink looked even more neon against the sharp metal of Shiro’s prosthetic, a juxtaposition Keith found unexpectedly arousing.

“It’d be worth it,” Shiro whispered, releasing Keith’s hand and dropping his own into his lap. “Especially if it earned me another smile from you.”

“Oh yeah, and what would you do for one of my smiles?” Keith asked, trying desperately to get back on solid ground. Flirting. Keith could handle flirting. This was just a bit of flirting, nothing more.

Shiro cocked his head to the side as if assessing Keith, as if he were trying to see into Keith’s soul. Keith felt laid bare beneath his gaze in a way that had nothing to do with his lack of clothing.

“ _Anything,_ ” he answered.

And there it was again, that dangerous swooping in his chest that made Keith’s world feel completely off-center. Keith could handle lust. He was no stranger to flirting or to the allure of an attractive man. Shiro’s body was out of this world and Keith had absolutely no problem admitting to himself that he wanted Shiro’s body.

But with every word Shiro uttered. Keith wanted to ask for his number, to ask him out on a shitty date for pizza or coffee, to know what secrets lay beneath the surface. He wanted to keep hearing Shiro laugh, wanted to ask him what his favorite movie was, and what he liked on a banana split.

The ghost of Shiro’s touch still lingered on his wrist as Keith stared at his paint-stained hand, unable to handle the depths of Shiro’s eyes any longer.

Without pausing to consider the possible repercussions of what he was doing, Keith turned towards the table and dipped each one of the fingertips of his right hand into a different color before bringing them back to Shiro’s body.

“What are you— _oh_ ,” Shiro breathed, legs widening as his back arched and his chin tipped back in a subtle but clear sign of trust and submission. Whatever Keith wanted to do, Shiro was going to let him.

Fucked. Keith was fucked.

 

 

**_____**

 

 

The music from the party was still blaring up the stairwell, and even on the second floor Keith could hear the hum of the party, the wall behind his head vibrating from the heavy bass, and yet through it all the only thing Keith could think was Shiro, Shiro, Shiro.

Shiro, who not twenty minutes before had been driving Keith absolutely fucking crazy with desire as Shiro had breathed slow and deep and allowed Keith to mark every inch of his chest and back in rainbow swirls, as if Shiro’s body were his canvas.

Keith knew he was no artist, not even close, but fuck if Shiro didn’t make Keith feel as if he could do anything. It was heady to feel as if the world held no limits. Keith knew it was an illusion, but it was a hell of a good one. The sight of his paint-soaked fingers dancing across Shiro’s skin had flooded Keith with a sort of reckless abandon, his cock hardening more every time Shiro inhaled sharply when Keith’s fingers skimmed the top of his waistband or trailed too close to the curve of his neck.

By the time Shiro had tipped his head back, his eyes turned up towards the stars and his Adam's apple bobbing against his throat as Keith traced a constellation across the hollow of his throat, Keith had felt nearly crazy. He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Shiro.

Keith had blindly reached out to scoop up more paint in his left hand until both of his hands were cascading down Shiro’s arms, painting them in streaks of red and purple. Keith knew this was only temporary, knew in minutes or hours he’d lose Shiro’s attention, and that by tomorrow the paint would be washed from Shiro’s body just as easily as Keith’s memory would be, but in that moment they’d felt infinite. Keith had watched the colors swirl against Shiro’s skin and felt a thrill from knowing this was Keith’s doing. No matter who else looked at Shiro tonight, at least Keith would know he’d been the one to paint his most secret hopes and dreams across Shiro’s skin in a language all his own.

 _I want you_ , was there in the drag of Keith’s fingertips up and over the shell of Shiro’s ears.

 _I want you_ , was there in his hands’ steadiness as he traced the underside of Shiro’s wrists in white.

 _I want you_ , was painted across Shiro’s body in bold lines and colors full of more life than Keith had ever known.

Keith had been lost in the haze of grey eyes and swirling colors, the flickering Christmas lights making Shiro glow as if the galaxies themselves were alight in Shiro’s eyes.

Just when Keith thought things couldn't get any better—or worse depending on how he looked at it—Shiro had turned his eyes on Keith and whispered, “You making me yours, Keith?”

Later Keith would blame what he said in response on the full moon and the feeling of Shiro’s warm thighs pressed against his knees. He’d blame it on the chill in the air and the thrum of partygoers. And he’d blame Shiro. He’d blame Shiro for being attractive in a way that Keith felt in his heart as much as in his cock. Definitely he’d blame Shiro.

Mostly though, mostly Keith would blame himself for having the inability to have an ounce of chill around this guy he’d just met. He’d blame himself for being unable to think logically or rationally when all he wanted to do was steal as much time as he could with Shiro before the universe took Shiro away.

“If you take me to your room I’ll make you mine,” Keith said.

Keith feared he’d said the wrong thing. He feared he’d gone too far, and it’d all been just a game to Shiro. He feared he’d assumed incorrectly, and Shiro didn’t actually want to be his, not like _that_. He feared a whole lot of things in the forty-five seconds it took Shiro to respond.

But then Shiro had risen from the stupid little orange bucket he was sitting on so fast he’d knocked it over. He’d reached out and pulled Keith in for a bruising kiss that left absolutely no room for any doubt in Keith’s mind that Shiro wanted him. Sure, he didn’t know in what way or for how long, but the undeniable reality was that Shiro wanted him.Self-preservation be damned, Keith was going to have him even if it was only once. Even if it killed him.

That’d been ten minutes ago, and somehow they’d managed to make their way across the backyard, back to the house and through the crowded kitchen, where he'd happened upon his traitorous friends and Matt all now chucking marshmallows into each other’s mouths. Upon the sight of Shiro and Keith’s joined hands they’d all begun to wolf whistle. Shiro had grinned, pulling Keith in for a showy kiss that left Keith’s brain cells feeling fried as Shiro’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He had had enough control over his brain to flip his friends off as Shiro hoisted Keith up and began to carry him down the hallway, apparently unwilling to stop touching Keith now that he’d started, not that Keith had any objections to having his lips and neck ravaged as Shiro maneuvered them down the corridor and up the stairs without missing a beat. Keith liked the confident strength in Shiro’s body, liked his big hands cupping Keith’s ass as he whispered, “Fuck,” against the curve of Keith’s jaw.

Even distracted by Shiro’s hands and mouth, Keith couldn’t help but notice that while he had needed to yell and force his way through the crowds, the partygoers parted easily for Shiro. Whether it was because no one wanted to get covered in paint or because Shiro commanded that much respect, Keith didn’t know, probably both.

They got distracted at the top of the stairs when Keith had let Shiro press him back against the wall, hands roaming down his chest.

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Shiro groaned, dropping his face into the side of Keith’s neck and sucking on the sensitive skin at the juncture between his shoulder and neck hard enough that Keith knew there would be a visible love bite there later. Normally Keith hated those kinds of marks, hated physical reminders of drunken or lust-filled transgressions. He hated knowing that someone else had left tangible evidence of their claim on his body. Except as Shiro sucked harder, Keith didn’t feel like he was being marked as an act of possession; it felt as if Shiro were worshipping him. It felt as if Shiro were trying to give Keith something, not take something.

“Not cute,” Keith ground out, squeezing his legs around Shiro’s waist as his head thumped back against the wall. “Fuck, which room is yours?” he asked, desperately wanting to rid Shiro of his one and only article of clothing.

“That one,” Shiro said, pointing to the room across the hallway and one door down.

“Then why are we in the hallway?” Keith asked, removing his right arm from where it was wrapped around Shiro’s neck to drag it down his chest. The paint was still wet, and Keith realized that he was covered in it now too. There had been great satisfaction in covering Shiro’s body with paint, but Keith thought he liked seeing the path of his paint covered fingers as they moved down and around to slip just under the waistband of Shiro’s purple boxers.

“Fuck, baby, you’re a tease,” Shiro whispered, hefting Keith up a bit and turning to walk them down the rest of the hallway.

Keith shook his head, his long fringe falling into his eyes as he leaned forward to whisper, “Not teasing,” into Shiro’s ear at the same moment that Shiro held all of Keith’s weight with just his left arm, using his right to swing his bedroom door open.

Keith let his legs fall from Shiro’s waist as he glanced around Shiro’s room, desperate to memorize whatever he could—the stack of books on the end table, the miniature replica of the solar system hanging above his desk, a photo of Shiro and what looked like his grandparents on a bookshelf, and a collection of shot glasses lined up in front of the television. His room was impeccably clean, with small hints of whom Shiro was beneath the big smile and muscles—things that made Keith ache to know Shiro outside the haze of alcohol and lowered inhibitions that came with a frat party.

Fucked, Keith thought again. Definitely fucked.

“We’re going to ruin your room,” Keith blurted out, glancing down at his half paint covered body and over to Shiro who looked like a human spin art.

“Didn’t I tell you we’re going to make a masterpiece tonight?” Shiro said, walking towards his bed and pulling off the black comforter. Keith bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Stars. Shiro’s sheets were covered in little stars. They were crisp white sheets, tucked in perfectly at every corner with little stars and constellations dotting across them. They looked like the sheets he’d begged his dad to buy him for Christmas when he was nine and his greatest ambitions had been becoming an astronaut and being able to watch Saturday morning cartoons.

“Nice sheets,” Keith said, heart racing at the idea of fucking Shiro on them.

Shiro blushed, but he crossed his arms over his chest as he shrugged. “My grandpa wouldn’t buy them for me when I was a kid, so I bought them for college. Don’t laugh at me.”

Keith shook his head, crossing the room until he was standing directly in front of Shiro again. He was reminded again of how little he knew of the other boy, and how very much he wanted to know.

“I’m not laughing,” he whispered, moving to stand on his toes to kiss him.

Shiro hummed in pleasure, his arms unfolding as they moved to rest at Keith’s hips, gentlying urging him back towards the bed. Keith stumbled, kicking off his sneakers before the back of his knees hit the bed and fell back. Keith scooted back until he was in the center of the bed, head resting on Shiro’s pillow as Shiro grinned at him, kicking off his own shoes before crawling atop Keith.

“Hi,” Shiro whispered, pressing his lips to Keith's. But before Keith could appreciate the fullness of Shiro’s lips against his own, Shiro was gone, scooting down Keith’s body and leaving a trail of feather-light kisses from his clavicle to the sharp jut of his hip bone just above his boxers.

“Can I?” Shiro asked, hooking his fingers in the stretchy material. His face was inches from Keith’s dick, and though he couldn’t be positive, he had a pretty good idea what Shiro was planning, and it made his head spin.

Not trusting himself to speak, Keith nodded as he lifted his hips to encourage Shiro to remove Keith’s boxers.

Shiro wrapped his fingers around the material, pulling it taught against Keith’s aching cock before he tugged the material down to pool around Keith’s thighs, his erection springing free and slapping against his stomach. Keith inhaled sharply as Shiro’s hands skimmed across his stomach and down his thighs, helping Keith disrobe completely. He collapsed back onto the bed, legs spread wide as Shiro settled between them.

“You’ve spent all night touching me, I think it’s about time I get a turn,” he said, letting his thumbs dig into the flesh of Keith’s inner thighs as he spread Keith’s legs wider. Keith knew what was coming but was still surprised when Shiro slipped almost off the end of the bed. Keith threw his head back and closed his eyes as he felt Shiro shifting, felt Shiro’s warm breath on the head of his dick before it was enveloped by an even warmer mouth.

“Jesus christ,” Keith groaned, legs bending as he shoved his heels into the bed, barely able to resist the urge to thrust into Shiro’s mouth. Shiro hummed loudly, the vibrations sending a wave of arousal through Keith as Shiro bobbed his head up and down while his left hand curled around the base of Keith’s cock to stroke and squeeze the bit he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

Keith knew he shouldn’t look. It would be a bad a idea. A horrible idea. The worst idea he’d ever had, because he wasn’t drunk, and the room wasn’t dark. If Keith turned his head to the side he could see Shiro’s college ID and a small snow globe from Japan on the side table. One of Shiro’s fraternity sweatshirts was thrown over the back of his desk chair, and he could see the poster on the closet door for _Monsters and Mana_ —Keith’s favorite anime, one he never in a million years would’ve thought someone like Shiro would watch—and if he looked down to see Shiro’s face then he couldn’t pretend this was just anyone’s bed he was in, or that it didn’t mean anything.

Shiro’s left hand moved away from the base of Keith’s dick and began to trail a path from the inside of his thigh, up his belly, and across his chest until Shiro’s large hand was resting atop his chest, solid and heavy and warm. Keith’s every nerve ending felt lit on fire. Unable to resist, Keith rose onto his elbows and took in the sight of Shiro’s cheeks hollowed around his cock, of the arch of Shrio’s hulking shoulders tensed as he leaned all his weight on his right arm.

Keith had spent longer than he cared to admit falling into bed with people, unable to admit even to himself that he’d been looking for something _more_. It’d felt as out of reach as his banished dreams of space exploration. But lying in Shiro’s bed, Shiro’s strong hands holding him steady as Shiro sucked his dick as if he’d done it a million times, Keith couldn’t shake the feeling this felt like what he’d been looking for—a connection that defied explanation—as he realized he didn’t want to be one and done. Not with Shiro.

Shiro was like the stars, and Keith wanted to explore them—wanted to fucking revel in them.

“Hi,” Shiro said, pulling off Keith’s cock with an audible pop. He looked pretty pleased with himself, and Keith was hard pressed to find a reason he shouldn’t be. Shiro grinned, as if completely at ease with Keith naked in his head, Keith’s cock hovering in midair just an inch from his face.

“Hi,” Keith answered, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he felt.

Shiro smiled crookedly which made his nose wrinkle in a way Keith found adorable.

 _Definitely fucked_ , he thought.

“So,” Shiro breathed, bracing an arm and a leg on either side of Keith as he began to crawl up Keith’s body. Shiro was still fully dressed, or as fully dressed as someone wearing nothing but bright purple lycra boxers could be. “You keep yours promises, Red?”

Keith shivered involuntarily at the nickname and the smooth lilt of Shiro’s voice.

“Of course. I’m a man of my word,” Keith answered, letting the backs of his hands graze Shiro’s body, his nails scraping along Shiro’s thick treasure trail before slipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of Shiro’s boxers.

“Fuck,” Shiro groaned, his body shuddering as he dropped his head down to rest in the crook of Keith’s neck.  
Keith hid his smile against Shiro’s shoulder as he peppered it with kisses, dragging his fingers beneath the waistband around to the back, finally sliding them all the way beneath the stretchy fabric as he dug his hands into the firm globes of Shiro’s plump ass.

Keith didn’t know what the hell was happening. This wasn’t some fairy tale, and he didn’t believe in love at first sight or soulmates, but it felt electric to have his hands on Shiro, intoxicating and undeniably right as he lifted his head to press their lips together and yanked Shiro’s boxers down to rest below his ass.

Shiros cock sprung free, and he rolled his hips, his cock rubbing against Keith’s in a deliciously heady pace.

Summoning every ounce of self-control he possessed, Keith pulled out of the kiss and dropped his head onto the pillow, his hands holding Shiro’s hips in place.

An unexpected pout appeared on Shiro’s face. Keith had never seen a grown man pout. It should’ve been pathetic or ridiculous, but instead it softened the sharp angles of Shiro’s strong jawline and made him look boyishly innocent in a way that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. The pout made stirred something within Keith as he lifted his right hand to caress the side of Shiro’s face. Shiro smiled as Keith swooped down to steal a chaste kiss before wiggling out from beneath him. Shiro’s pout only became more pronounced.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asked, rising up. His boxers constricted his movement, making him topple over, and he grunted out a quiet _fuck_ and frowned as he kicked off his boxers, settling back on the bed and sitting on his heels. He lifted his left hand out towards Keith and then dropped it as if unsure if it was welcome. “It’s okay if you changed your mind.”

Something tight in the center of Keith’s chest unfurled. No one had ever said that to him. Ever. Logically he knew he could change his mind at any time, and he had. More than once. But he’d also had more than one druken nasty insult hurled his way for being a killjoy or a cocktease. Keith hadn’t cared, or so he always told himself. Those guys had been fucktards who didn’t deserve him anyway. He knew they weren’t right. But all the same, he’d never had someone look at him the way Shiro was, never had someone touch him—or _not_ touch him— the way Shiro was.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Keith said, hoping Shiro didn’t notice the catch in his throat as he spoke. “Nothing. I just wanted to switch. I promised to make you mine didn’t I?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Shiro said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he let Keith guide him until he was lying back on the bed. Shiro stopped fighting back his own smile, grinning up at Keith as he tangled his paint-covered hand into Keith’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

Keith had always been a fan of kissing. He liked the way it felt to want to be so close to someone you were literally breathing them in, liked the way strong lips felt against his own, and loved the way it felt to let his tongue dance against someone else’s. It felt oddly more intimate than actual sex, which was probably why it was something he rarely did. Most one night stands didn’t care much for kissing anyway. Activities of that nature were usually focused solely on dicks and asses, and Keith hadn’t thought he really minded. At least not until now.

Now, as he lay entangled in Shiro’s bed with Shiro emitting the softest sounds of pleasure into Keith’s mouth as he opened his mouth, body arching up against Keith as Keith’s tongue slipped between Shiro’s lips.

Keith didn’t know how long they kissed, his hands fisting in the pillowcase on either side of Shiro’s head. Keith slowly rocked against Shiro’s body, their lips ghosting across each other. It felt so good, pleasure coiling in his spine, but it wasn’t enough.

He wanted more, needed more, and apparently so did Shiro.

“Fuck me,” Shiro murmured, his hold on Keith’s hair tightening, a sharp juxtaposition to the slow, gentle way Shiro was kissing him. Shiro’s cock was hard and leaking against his thigh, his hand quivering with tension at the back of Keith’s head, but still he kissed Keith slow and languidly as if they had forever—as if he wanted it to last forever.

“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy,” Keith teased, kissing him again.

Shiro’s eyes brightened. “That something you like, Red?”

Keith shrugged. He’d only been joking. _Mostly_. At least he thought he had. Like everything else that night, the idea of sweet talk coming from Shiro made Keith ache with desire. He was pretty sure Shiro could give him a lecture on quantum physics, and he’d find it arousing.

Shiro cupped his cheek with his prosthetic, the brush of his metal thumb surprisingly gentle. “Fuck, you’re a sweet thing. I want you to fuck me now. I want you to fuck me so good. Make me yours. Make me feel it everywhere. Then later, later I want to make you mine. Think you’re up for that?”

Just like that the softness was gone, replaced by something desperate and raw—his arousal flaring like a fire. Certainly Shiro had shown he could be sweet, but he was other things too—flirtatious and bold, and apparently a tad competitive—and fuck, those things were all attractive too.

Everything about Shiro was attractive.

“Fuck yes,” Keith said, pulling back and moving down the bed to sit between Shiro’s thighs. He finally noticed the paint staining Shiro’s sheets—red and purple handprints marring the pillowcase and the rest of the bed awash in a rainbow of neon colors. Keith looked down at his own body now stained from rubbing against Shiro’s paint-coated chest and arms. Even their cocks had a bit of paint on them. Keith hoped that shit was non-toxic, especially since his hands were about to be in rather sensitive places.

“I should probably wash my hands first,” Keith said, wiggling his not at all sex-ready fingers in front of Shiro. He had absolutely zero desire to have to get up and dressed to stumble down the hallway and find a bathroom, but he didn’t think it was gentlemanly to stick paint-covered fingers up someone’s butt.

“Oh, I have something,” Shiro said, reaching over the side of the bed and returning with what very much looked like a pack of baby wipes. It even had little moons on the side and Winnie the Pooh and Piglet. Keith laughed, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when Shiro handed it to him.

“Why do you have baby wipes? Something you want to tell me, Daddy?” Keith teased, popping open the top and removing two wipes. He scrubbed his hands with them, watching the paint come off easily.

Shiro’s cheeks bloomed red as he grabbed the package from Keith and dropped it on the floor. “Ah, shut up. They’re good for cleaning things.”

“Things?” Keith asked.

To his surprise Shiro blushed, grabbing the pillow from behind him and swatting Keith in the ass with it. “You’ll be thanking me later when we’re sticky.”

“Speaking of sticky,” Keith said, plucking the pillow from Shiro’s hands and putting it back behind him, “do you have condoms?” Keith grazed his hands across the taut muscles at the inside of Shiro’s thick thighs. Shiro’s skin was warm, the dusting of hair on his upper legs entirely masculine.

Shiro nodded, licking his lips and throwing his arm out blindly to his side table. Without taking his eyes off Keith, he yanked the drawer open and dug around until he found what he was looking for—a bottle of lubricant and a condom.

“Do you want to do it or do you want me to?” Shiro asked, flipping the lid of the lube open as the condom packet fell to the bed in a flutter, landing atop a splotch of yellow and pink paint. “I know some guys don’t like this part.”

Keith reached out to snatch the bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. “I want to do it. I said I was going to make you mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

Shiro inhaled sharply, and Keith smiled as he reached between Shiro’s legs to swirl his finger around Shiro’s hole. Shiro squirmed, his big hands fisting in the sheets as he arched his hips and tried to spread his thighs wider.

“Sorry about your sheets,” Keith whispered against the inside of Shiro’s leg, resting his head against Shiro’s bent knee as he pressed the first finger inside. Shiro inhaled deeply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as Keith moved his finger in and out and twisted it to the side.

“Fuck the sheets,” he grunted as Keith began to press a second finger inside slowly, cognizant of the resistance and need to not rush. “The sheets are perfect. Never gonna wash them. Told you we were gonna make a masterpiece tonight.”

Keith turned his face into the crook of Shiro’s bent leg, unable to contain his laughter. “What is it with you and not washing things as a sign of affection?”

Shiro pouted again. “Are you telling me my grand gestures of love aren’t effective?”

Keith turned his head, trying to gauge how serious Shiro was being. He didn’t know what it meant that he could laugh like this, so at ease while butt naked and covered in paint, and with his fingers up the ass of a guy he just met while they talked and joked as if they’d known each other forever.

“I dont think I’m doing a very good job of this if you can still be a smartass,” Keith snorted, rubbing his cheek along Shiro’s inner thigh as he got the second finger completely inside Shiro’s body and began to move them in and out at a confident pace.

Shiro’s mouth fell open, his hand coming up to slide through Keith’s hair as he lifted his right leg and let it rest on Keith’s shoulder. “Doing just fine from where I’m lying.”

Shiro’s body was solid and heavy, and Keith liked that Shiro didn't hesitate to let his weight rest upon Keith despite his larger stature. Almost without thinking he turned his face to mouth at Shiro’s thigh, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth as he scissored his fingers in and out, delighting in the way Shiro’s hips began to rock up, at the way Shiro’s heel dug into his shoulder, and at the sight of Shiro’s cock thick, full, and leaking against the flat of his belly.

Shiro looked halfway to ruined, and Keith didn’t feel far behind.

“Fine isn’t good enough,” he said, adding a third finger.

“Fuck, you’re making me crazy, baby. Feels so good,” Shiro breathed, hand never moving from Keith’s head. Keith was beginning to think Shiro had a thing for his hair, and he rather liked it. Something about the way Shiro’s long fingers felt moving along his scalp as he crooked his own fingers inside of Shiro’s body made Keith feel as if he was both taking apart Shiro and being taken apart by him.

Keith licked his lips, eyes wide as he watched the sheen of sweat blooming across Shiro’s skin, making the mess of paint smear more as Shiro began to move in earnest, the sheets beneath them become tangled as his leg fell from Keith’s shoulder and onto the bed.

“Ready. Shit, so ready. Please,” Shiro begged.

“Me too,” Keith said, pulling his fingers from Shiro’s ass. Shiro groaned at the loss, scooting back up the bed until his head was on the pillow. The paint on the pillowcase enveloped his hair in a sort of neon halo that left Keith breathless.

“You ready to make me yours?” Shiro asked, moving his hands to the back of his thighs to lift his legs and spread himself open for Keith.

“Fucking hell,” Keith exhaled, swiping the fringe that had fallen into his eyes off his face. Shiro’s face was as open as his body, his desire for Keith written as clearly as the stars.

Keith’s eyes darted around the bed until he spotted the condom, which he grabbed, ignoring Shiro’s huff of laughter when he put it between his teeth to rip it open. He didn’t care how impatient or eager he looked. He was both, and as far as Keith was concerned, there could be an asteroid headed for Earth and nothing in the world would be able to stop him from sliding inside of Shiro’s body—to make him his. He couldn’t think about later, about Shiro’s promise of next time and make you mine. He didn’t know if Shiro was serious or what would happen after.

The future was unpredictable and unstable but this—here and now—this was a sure thing.

Keith could almost believe they hadn’t just met. Maybe in another time, another life, they’d been best friends. Maybe in another universe they already meant something to each other.

In that moment they were the only two people who mattered.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Shiro said, making Keith look up from his dick as he rolled the condom on.

Keith couldn’t even imagine what he looked like. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, not really. He’d had a growth spurt the summer before college and taken up boxing at his dad’s suggestion to deal with his unresolved anger and control issues. Objectively, Keith knew he was a bit of a looker, but he also knew in his current state his hair probably looked like a bird’s nest from Shiro’s fondling, his body was covered in flaking neon paint and sweat, and he was doing what he considered to be an entirely unattractive part of sex and putting on a condom. Shiro still held himself open, looking up at Keith as if he hung the goddamn moon, as if he were a fucking shooting star that Shiro felt lucky to have glimpsed. It made Keith’s heart race faster, and he leaned forward and lined up his cock. It made his breath catch in his throat and a flush bloom across his face as Shiro watched with rapt attention while Keith pressed his hips forward and the tip of his cock popped past the ring of muscle.

Shiro’s fingers dug into his flesh, the skin turning white as he tried to pull his legs back even further. Shiro was surprisingly flexible for someone so built, and Keith really, really hoped there was gonna be a next time so he could see first hand what other positions Shiro could get that body into.

“You feel so good,” Keith said quietly once he was fully seated inside. He leaned forward, dropping his hands onto the pillow on either side of Shiro’s head and bringing his face down until their foreheads were almost touching.

Shiro didn’t blink as he opened his mouth, his breath ghosting across Keith’s lips while he lifted his head and let his lips move against Keith’s in a kiss so tender it left Keith physically aching.

“You’re not what I expected,” Keith confessed when he pulled back from the kiss to smile, letting his forehead drop down to rest against Shiro’s.

Shiro released the death grip he held on his thighs and instead wrapped them all the way around Keith’s waist so his heels were digging into Keith’s lower back as Shiro arched his hips, silently urging Keith to move.

“You’re exactly what I expected,” Shiro whispered.

Keith’s ears rang, his entire world spinning on his axis. Fuck.

Keith had promised to make Shiro his, but with every word Shiro uttered it was becoming increasingly clear that Shiro was making Keith his.

And just like that, Keith’s small amount of self-restraint was shattered into a million infinitesimal pieces as he surged forward to steal Shiro’s lips in a searing kiss. Keith pulled his hips back then slammed them forward immediately. Shiro let out a gasp of surprise, which Keith swallowed greedily.

“Keith,” Shiro mumbled against his lips, his hands roaming over every inch of Keith’s body he could reach. Shiro wasn’t some passive receiver; instead he rocked his body in time with Keith’s thrusts, his hands and mouth never leaving Keith’s as if he were attempting to make a map of Keith’s very soul. Keith was used to sex being more about giving or receiving pleasure, not _both_ —but fuck it all if Shiro didn’t make Keith feel like he were the one being fucked even as his dick was inside Shiro’s body.

Time ceased to exist as Keith snapped his hips, pulling almost all the way out then pushing back in as deep as he could go, the sound of his hips slapping against Shiro’s ass echoing loudly. It was filthy and frantic, their labored breathing heavy but still Keith upped the pace needing more. His legs began to ache, his arms quivering and their kisses becoming sloppy.

“Fuck,” Keith mumurmed into Shiro’s mouth as Shiro sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

Shiro’s every touch, every exhale was begging for more. Keith didn’t know what he had left to give, only knew whatever was left was Shiro’s.

Keith’s hips stuttered. _Shit_ This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was supposed to make Shiro come first, but fuck, he could feel it pooling in his belly like a crescendo waiting to break, and before Keith could stop it he was moaning into Shiro’s mouth as he bottomed out and dug his fingers into Shiro’s biceps hard enough to leave a mark as he came.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled, when he got the nerve to open his eyes. His face burned with embarrassment, but instead of dissatisfaction or disappointment, Shiro’s face was awash in something else entirely.

“Don’t apologize. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Shiro said, his hand cupping the side of Keith’s face as he gently pulled him back down for a slow, languid kiss just like earlier. It made Keith’s toes curl and his cock flutter with interest even though he’d just come.

It wasn’t until Keith dropped down onto his elbows, his chest pressed firmly against Shiro’s to deepen the kiss that he remembered Shiro hadn’t come. Shiro, with his hard cock sandwiched between them as he kissed Keith breathless, as if it were all he wanted in the world. Fuck but Shiro was sweet.

Keith pulled out of the kiss without warning, this time expecting the pout that spread across Shiro’s face. It was even more exaggerated than before and just as adorable.

“I like your mouth,” Shiro said, in what could almost be described as a whine, his hand falling to the bed with a thump.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he pulled out. Shiro let out a huff, puffing out his bottom lip pathetically, and Keith couldn't contain the bark of laughter.

“You’ll like my mouth where it’s going too,” he said, voice full of mirth as he pulled off the condom and tied it, swiping a tissue off the bedside table to wrap it in and then dropping it on Shiro’s floor with a shrug. He’d deal with that later.

“Oh, and where is going?” Shiro asked, though from the way he spread his legs and eyed his own neglected dick, it was clear he knew.

“Oh, it’s going right here,” Keith said, scooting down the bed and planting his mouth on Shiro’s stomach just below his belly button. Shiro groaned, bucking his hips and making his cock rub against Keith’s chin as Keith sucked hard on the soft skin.

“God,” Shiro groaned, throwing his left arm over his face as Keith pulled the skin between his teeth and bit softly.

“Mmm, you like that, don’t you? Want me to leave a mark here too?” Keith asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer, dragging the flat of his tongue across the flat plane of Shiro’s stomach and stopping at the juncture between the top of his thigh and his hip.

“Keith,” Shiro groaned, and this time it was definitely a whine as Keith hollowed his cheeks and sucked the sensitive skin into his mouth. By the time Keith released Shiro’s skin from his mouth it was marred red, and Keith knew there’d be a mark there later. That didn’t feel like enough, so he kept going, softly biting and sucking until he’d left a trail of hickeys across Shiro’s hip and down the inside of his thigh.

When Keith was done he pulled back to admire his handiwork, pleased at the path of purpleing love bites decorating Shiro’s porcelain skin. Shiro’s eyes were glassy and he had bit his bottom lip hard enough to bleed, and dug his hands into the sheets hard enough to put a hole in them. Shiro clearly had the self-control of a fucking monk, and god, did Keith hope he got the chance to see how much it took to make Shiro lose control.

“Think you’ve been a good boy? You deserve to come?” Keith asked.

Shiro blinked, eyes wide as he shifted his ass against the bed. “Yes.”

Keith reached out and grabbed Shiro’s hip to keep him still, both of his thumbs stroking the skin there. “Good.”

Then Keith lowered his mouth, the tip of Shiro’s leaking dick brushing his closed lips as he darted his tongue out to lap at the precome, delighting in the unabashed groan of pleasure it earned.

“Please,” Shiro breathed, his left hand reaching out to tangle in Keith’s hair. He didn't try to pull him down or change Keith’s pace, seemed content to simply be touching him as Keith opened his mouth and engulfed as much of Shiro’s dick as he could. Shiro’s was well-endowed, and Keith could barely take half, but Shiro seemed more than satisfied, his stomach quivering with the force of not thrusting up into Keith’s mouth. Keith bobbed his head, releasing the hold on Shiro’s hip with his right hand and bringing it around to wrap around the base of Shiro’s cock to match the pace of his mouth.

It took less than a minute before Shiro gasped, fingers tightening in Keith’s hair as he tried to pull him off in warning, but Keith shook his head and swallowed him down even deeper until the tip of Shiro’s cock hit the back of his throat. Shiro came with a guttural moan, his prosthetic flying up to squeeze Keith’s shoulder as he bucked up into his mouth and rode out his orgasm. Keith swallowed down as much as he could, a bit of it sliding out of his mouth, which Shiro wiped off with his thumb.

“Come here,” Shiro huffed, voice cracking as he put his hands under Keith’s arms and pulled him up as if he were light as a feather. “God, you’re incredible.” He settled Keith atop his chest, throwing his arm over Keith’s back and tangling their legs.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Keith said, voice muffled into the side of Shiro’s neck. He was spent physically, his body heavy and lax. Shiro’s heartbeat was so strong beneath him he could feel it reverberate against his chest in a soothing rhythm that made him feel surprisingly sleepy even though he normally didn't go to bed before midnight.

Shiro grunted, stroking his free hand through Keith’s hair again and closing his eyes. “M’tired.”

“Should I go?” Keith asked.

Shiro tilted his head and nudged at Keith to bring their foreheads together. Keith wished he hadn’t asked that question, not if it meant Shiro was going to look at him like that, as if he were the first person to ever see Keith.

“I’d like you to stay. If you want to that is.” His hand didn’t leave Keith’s hair.

Keith felt the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding in his shoulders release. “I’d like that.”

Shiro nodded, their foreheads rubbing together as he pressed a chaste kiss to Keith’s lips before dropping his head back onto the pillow and closing his eyes.

Keith lay there for several long seconds before opening his mouth. “So, are you a man of your word?”

Shiro seemed to catch his meaning, tightening his hold on Keith and letting out a contented sigh. “Mmm, I’m a man of my work. Sleep first, then I’m gonna make you mine, Red.”

He was pretty sure saying _you already have_ to someone he’d only known a few hours was wildly inappropriate so he resisted the urge.

“Oh, good. That’s good,” he said, burrowing his face into the shell of Shiro’s neck and letting the steady thump thump of Shiro’s heart lull him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://teamtakashi.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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